


The Head That Wears a Crown

by ceci_n_est_pas_un_corbeau



Category: The Lion in Winter (1968)
Genre: Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Fomenting Rebellion, Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Plotting and scheming, Power Dynamics, Pre-Slash, kingship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceci_n_est_pas_un_corbeau/pseuds/ceci_n_est_pas_un_corbeau
Summary: Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill- William Shakespeare,Henry VI, Part IIGeoffrey Plantagenet has thoughts on kingship.
Relationships: Geoffrey Plantagenet & Philip of France
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Head That Wears a Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/gifts).



The meadows are gray and shrunken and dead under a heavy rime of frost, and the river glitters darkly beneath a winter moon. It is not, Geoffrey thinks, weather for kings. Nor is it weather for troubadours, knights, and ladies. This is chancellor’s weather. Christmas may be brief and jolly, but winter lasts for months. It’s the grit under the shining pageantry, and what better metaphor can there be for what it is that men like him must do for men like his brother? 

He’s worth more than this, and all the days of this infernal Christmas court have proved it over and over. Oh, it’s been grand to heigh-ho the holly and sing nonsense songs and pray for peace, but it’s all a farce. A great, stinking farce, and as far as he can tell, only he knows this. Richard’s too driven, John’s too stupid, and Henry and Eleanor are too proud to understand, but Geoffrey, Geoffrey sees. Maybe Philip would see too, if only Geoffrey would ask him, but he can’t very well seek Philip out, with everyone bustling about madly as the twelve days wear on and on. God, he can’t wait for Twelfth Night. 

It’s lonely, it really is, this waiting in the darkness for someone who understands how to conduct himself the way Geoffrey does. It’s not that his family’s unintelligent, for God knows he got his brains somewhere (privately, and though he doesn’t like to admit it, Geoffrey thinks they’re mostly from Eleanor’s end of things. Stubbornness and erudition appear to be the main prerequisites for Dukes of Aquitaine, which is why it’s patently unfair that he’s only Duke of Brittany. He’d do far better in the South. But as Duke of Aquitaine, it’s possible he’d end up like Richard, eager to fight and eagerer to write really terrible poetry. Perish the thought. He’ll stay in Brittany). 

An owl hoots in the distance, soft and shrill. There’s a cold wind blowing off the river, and the smell of cook-fires from the village below, the bells tolling fitfully for some hour of office or other. In this early winter darkness, Geoffrey can’t make out which one. 

The hours blur together in these cold days, and perhaps they’d blur more pleasantly if he had someone to lie with. He thinks momentarily towards Constance, but dismisses her. If he loves Constance, it is for her land, and not anything to do with her. Maybe he ought to take after his father, and find some pretty mistress. But that seems inadvisable, and inadvisably boring. Better to keep aloof, and certainly better to avoid Richard’s mistakes. Geoffrey knows one thing. If he wants to stay in power, in control of his faculties, he cannot fall in love. Those unadvisable outbursts from behind tapestries taught him that much. 

Of course, it’s at that moment that he hears soft footfalls, and he turns from the window to see Philip, without escort of any sort. In the dimness, without robes or crown, he does not look as kingly as usual, which of course still means he looks more regal than Geoffrey can ever hope to. 

“Fancy finding you out in the cold,” he says to Geoffrey. 

“Didn’t expect to see you either,” Geoffrey replies. “It’s late.” 

They stand in silence, breath making clouds in the dark air, the stars gleaming fretful and bright overhead. 

“Perhaps I couldn’t sleep.” 

“I didn’t think kings had unquiet dreams.” 

It’s a stupid thing to say. Gregory knows kings, and Philip, being a king, knows that he knows kings. Again, the silence falls, thick and sticking between them. It freezes in the cold of the night, the darkness pregnant with anticipation. Something, Geoffrey thinks, really ought to happen soon. 

“They’re the only kind of dreams kings have,” Philip says. 

Ah. A hit. A very direct, delicate hit. 

“Then why be king at all? Kings are just ordinary men under all the power and royal majesty. When you take away all the God-given anointments and the awe of common men, you’re no different than some scheming noble. Maybe you’re better at battle, but aren’t there half a dozen dukes who’d gladly kill you in the field and could?” 

It’s bait, lying out there in the open like a poisoned gift, and Geoffrey suddenly feels very pleased with himself. If Philip takes this, well, then all the better for Geoffrey. All the better for power. Make him think he doesn’t want a crown, and use the power being Philip’s seneschal will provide to pull himself up and pull his brothers down. Only one of them can be king, and Henry’s already dead, a recent open wound. William’s been dead for years, and brothers you never knew are never obstacles. Their festering corpses open up the way for Geoffrey. One prince down, only two left to go. This is what it means to be a son of a king: you climb over the corpses of your brothers to get yourself crowned once your father is dead. 

Philip stares at him. 

“I don’t think you really believe that.” 

Geoffrey doesn’t. 

“Does it really matter what I believe? I’ll be John’s chancellor. We’ve discussed this. It’s all set up, or it would have been if my father hadn’t barged in, and you hadn’t tried to have that idiotic lover’s quarrel with Richard.” 

Geoffrey has to admit that he rather likes lecturing kings. It makes him feel powerful in a way that few other things do. Maybe he doesn’t need a crown after all. He might feel far more powerful if he can get John onto the throne and nimbly manipulate his every move. Philip gives him a rather funny look. 

“You know, I don’t think you want to be a chancellor at all. You want to be king.” 

“Maybe I do, but it’s terribly gauche to admit that,” Geoffrey says. He has him. He has Philip now. 

Philip chuckles. 

“You don’t want to turn into Richard, and that’s why you’re evading, isn’t it?” 

Geoffrey flushes, furious. This is the problem with matching wits when wits are well-matched. The other person has an irritating habit of one-upping you. It’s not like sparring verbally with John. No easy wins to be found here. He grins, or maybe it’s a grimace. Sometimes, you have to show your weakness, after all. 

“Maybe I don’t. Maybe I think I’d be better at all this than he is, better than John, too. Have you considered that? Maybe I don’t want to turn into Richard not because I dislike him, or distrust him, or am jealous of him, but because I think that I, Geoffrey, could do a better job. And if not, well, let’s say John becomes king. The chancellor plan’s nice, easy, and simple.” 

He pauses for breath and waits expectantly for what a real king might have to say. This is the last test. Philip’s lip curls. 

“You would, I think, be a better king than your brothers. But not yet.” 

And Geoffrey knows it’s time to make an offer. 

“I’ll fight for you, against my father. I mean it, and not in the painful, performative fashion we talked about on Christmas Day. Make me your seneschal, and I can make myself, or John, king. Whichever you prefer.” 

He hopes his words are seductive enough to draw in Philip, remembering other words, other claims. Philip claimed to have never loved Richard, and if that was true, well, Geoffrey will gladly buy ale for all of Christendom. There’s only so much you can fake, and Philip is only so good an actor. He loved Richard, in his sly, calculating way. Of that, Geoffrey is certain. And love is a weakness Geoffrey can exploit. Maybe he can even eke a little warmth out of it.He can be better, has to be better than Richard. And this will be the first step in the long, hard task of showing his brother up. Perhaps it’s not unlike how Philip treated Richard. After all, isn’t convincing someone that you cannot bite simply another kind of seduction? 

Philip nods as Geoffrey ponders. 

“We went over this. I’m in, so long as your father doesn’t suspect.” 

“He won’t. Well, not if John’s not involved. Which he won’t be.” 

Philip smiles. 

“Wise of you to finally discard him.” 

Geoffrey inclines his head. A gesture of recognition, from one king to another. He will do what it takes to get what he wants, of this he is certain. Perhaps he will gain more than power from Philip. Perhaps he will be to him what Richard could not ever be. Perhaps he can make the king of France gullible and reckless. It’s all a matter of timing, a matter of plotting, a matter of plans, and yes, of seduction. 

He smiles at Philip in the darkness, beneath the frosty, sightless stars as the year turns towards spring. It’s the depth of winter, but Geoffrey knows that the roots of the future are curling in the earth, ready to bloom green and victorious with the sun. And somewhere, sleeping under snow and ice, his kingship, or chancellorship, or whatever it may be waits to bloom as well. Brothers he may have, but Geoffrey knows, just knows, that in the end, he’ll be the last one standing. It’s always the one nobody expects. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Henry IV, Part II_ by William Shakespeare. 
> 
> The Henry who keeps popping up is Henry the Young King, who is something of a minor posthumous character in The Lion in Winter. He got crowned king in his father's lifetime, then died unpleasantly and in rather a lot of debt while campaigning against Henry II in southwest France. The oldest brother, William, doesn't show up at all in the movie, because he died at the age of three. 
> 
> As for Geoffrey's conviction that he'll come out on top in the end, well, historically speaking, he's going to bite the dust rather quickly after the events of this fic. But all things considered, it's perfectly possible that this takes place in an alternate timeline where things go rather differently.


End file.
